


Public Knowledge

by xanaphorax



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanaphorax/pseuds/xanaphorax
Summary: There’s only one rule to your tutoring sessions with Sweet Pea: no one can ever know. Which isn’t a problem. Until suddenly it kind of is?





	Public Knowledge

“No one can know.”

You tore your eyes away from where they had been tracing the Southside Serpents tattoo on his neck, making yourself meet his gaze instead.

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, biting your lip before remembering what your mother said about doing that, and quickly letting go. You settled on a smile. Or rather, the attempt at a smile. You could tell the effort didn’t reach your eyes. In your defense, though, he was the one making it hard to seem offhandedly friendly what with his intensely dark stare and the fact that you were certain he was carrying a knife. You stopped smiling, and shifted your weight to the other leg.

“Good,” he gave a single nod from where he leaned against the wall, staring at you with arms crossed. “So, Thursday? After school?”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok, that works,” you agreed, adjusting your grip on your books. “Where?”

“It’s your school,” he shot back.

You worried your lip between your teeth, racking your brain for different options.“Maybe the student lounge? Or the library?” He raised his eyebrows with a look that was equal parts skeptical and scathing, as if he couldn’t believe Mr. Adams had suggested he ask you to help him with his English papers. You couldn’t blame him. It took everything in you to avoid looking up at the ceiling and sighing at your own idiocy.

“Right, no one can know and people go to those places,” you mumbled, bobbing your head.  "Here then? I always see Mr. Adams skipping out of school early, so it should be open.“

"Cool,” he affirmed. In the awkward silence that followed, your eyes once more slid towards his tattoo, the double headed snake with fangs bared. The same as the one on the back of his leather jacket. “I’m not dumb. And this isn’t because I’m in the Serpents,” he snapped, and you felt your face grow warm as you refocused back on his face instead of his tattoo. “Southside was a hell hole and my last English teacher was the Sugar Man, not exactly the most conducive environment to getting an education.”

“I–I can imagine,” you stuttered, once more feeling the weight of your idiocy and wishing it would crush you.

“You really can’t,” he shook his head, looking out into the hall. “We can figure out the details Thursday.” he decided, without even looking back at you. Instead, he just left you behind, wondering why on earth you had just agreed to tutor Sweet Pea,  _The_  Southside Serpent, in English.

* * *

You were surprised to find Sweet Pea waiting for you in Mr. Adams’ room, computer already open in front of him. And apparently that surprise was written all over your face.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Sweet Pea narrowed his eyes, his hand curling into a fist on the desk. 

You shook your head, just continuing to stare at him as he sat, fuming, in the middle of the empty English classroom. “Just–how did you get here so fast?” you breathed out, remaining standing in the doorway and attempting to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut that was reminding you how  _terrible_ of an idea this whole arrangement was. Sweet Pea jerked back as if you’d just broken out into song , his mouth hanging open for the briefest of seconds before he snapped it shut and furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything. “You were just with me in Skinner’s class, and that’s like,” you waved an arm in the vague direction of the classroom halfway across the school on the second floor. “And I saw you leave talking to your friends. Didn’t you have to finish the conversation you were having or at least answer questions about why you’re staying late?”

“Why? You think Serpents are just deadbeats who don’t do extracurricular activities after school? We have other interests besides our bikes and Serpent business. Topaz is on the Vixens and Fogarty is with Keller trying to get another show up and going.”

You held up your hands. “I just—wish I could make it through these halls as fast as you. That’s all I was saying.”

Yep. This was quite possiblythe  _worst_ idea you’d ever had. Being stuck alone in an empty classroom with the human equivalent of a land mine and only the watchful eyes of Shakespeare, Poe, and Hilary Swank from  _Freedom Writers_  to chaperone. Not that you needed a chaperone. More like a translator.

He shrugged, letting out an annoyed exhale. “Are you going to continue to interrogate me or can we work on this essay?”

“Oh, yeah, right, ok,” you mumbled, walking further in and sinking into the seat next to his. “Did you start already?”

“Of course I started,” Sweet Pea said through gritted teeth. “I told you I’m not stupid. I need help not my hand held.”

You flushed, staring back at him, keeping your lips pressed shut. His eyes bore into yours, the snarl still on his face as he tried to stare you down. You opened your mouth and then shut it again, rethinking what you were about to say. “What?” he snapped.

“I’m just thinking this is going to be a hell of a long hour if you’re going to get angry every time I’m awkward or say the wrong thing because I don’t know if you noticed, being the smart person you are, but I’m  _constantly_ sticking my foot in my mouth,” you retorted.

And then what you just said–or rather  _how_ you said it and  _who_ you said it to–sunk in and your eyes grew wide.

“I–I–mean–”

He narrowed his eyes staring at you. It would be nice to die right now. You know, before he had the chance to murder you.

“I just mean I’m not nearly smart enough to come up with these clever little slights to insult you just because I’m bored. I’m no Cheryl Blossom. I only–”

You were cut off by Sweet Pea snorting. “You do realize you sort of did one right now.”

You opened and shut your mouth. Several times. And then came the stuttering. “I didn’t mean to imply that she’s always like that. I mean she kind of is, so honestly it was more of an observation than anything clever. And I don’t want to insult her. I don’t want to insult anyone. I told you I was good at sticking my foot down my mouth. Honestly it’s more like I shove my whole leg down there. Ugh that’s weird to say. I–Um–I just–”

He let out an amused exhale, his eyes darting to the side as if looking to see if someone else in the empty classroom was getting a load of the train wreck he was witnessing. “Don’t worry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I won’t tell her you said anything.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, hiding your head in your arms.

You could feel him looking at you, but it did nothing to draw you out of your self-imposed exile. You were reminded of when you were little and you truly believed–despite your parents’ arguments about faulty logic–that if you couldn’t see someone, they couldn’t see you. You hoped Sweet Pea was staring at the suddenly empty chair where you had been sitting wondering where you went and how you developed super powers.

“Hey.”

You should have known you were never that lucky. You felt a nudge against your arm, and you looked up.

“I’m Sweet Pea.”

You stared at the hand he had extended, your eyes trailing up his arm to his carefully blank face. Your face wrinkled in confusion as you slowly slid your hand into his. His fingers curled around your hand and shook it a few times, as you fought the blush rising in your cheeks and tried to ignore how his hand was warm and just a little bit rough except for the cool metal from his rings.

“And you are…” he prompted. You stared at him for a second more and he sighed, as if disappointed you were confused about why someone you already knew was introducing himself to you. “If we’re gonna restart as…acquaintances, it’d be nice to know your name.”

“Allison,” you said, a small smile forming on your face.

“Wanna read this paper and help me with the analysis, Allison?” Sweet Pea asked, letting go of your hand and gesturing to his open binder with his head.

“Yeah, definitely,” you nodded, pulling it in between the two of you to look over. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

Tutoring Sweet Pea got much easier after the first week. Of course there were still outbursts, but the longer you spent together, the more predictable they became. You could expect a rant and/or flipped furniture every time he had to:

  * Transition between ideas
  * Write a conclusion
  * Add a works cited page
  * Deal with getting a low grade



The rant would begin with how ridiculous English class was and how he’d never need to write an in depth character analysis in real life and then transition into him analyzing whoever was pissing him off the most at the moment: Reggie Mantle, Mr. Weatherbee, Archie Andrews, even you.

But most of the time, most of the time, Sweet Pea was the ideal student. He wanted your feedback and discussed his ideas and setbacks with a surprising amount of eloquence and insight considering how little he spoke in class.

“I like this,” you said, finishing the essay and turning the computer back towards him. “Or, I like the idea of it, you know, that Laertes isn’t just this raw nerve of a character but instead he’s a rational, guardian of honor. I just feel like you could go more into depth.”

Sweet Pea nodded, looking down at what he’d written. “Like how?”

“Well,” you bit your lip, reading the first body paragraph again and trying to formulate your thoughts. “Like here,” you said, pointing to a sentence. “You talk about how if he was truly led by his emotions he would have killed anyone he thought was associated with Polonius’ death rather than just the person responsible. But wasn’t he manipulated into killing Hamlet? How can you prove that it was a conscious decision or that killing for revenge can ever be reasonable?”

Sweet Pea looked at you as if you had suggested he break down the etymology of the word murder and crossed his arms. “Why? Isn’t that obvious?”

“Um no. Because if I was saying what a reasonable character would have done, I’d say that he should  _not_ go all vigilante but instead have a public trial which defames Hamlet, embarrasses the crown, punishes the murderer for the crime, and makes you sympathetic and beloved in the eyes of the people.” 

He scoffed, “Of course you would, Northsider.”

“Right, see!” you said, excitedly. “You see him different from me, so you need to explain that argument here. Using the text.”

Sweet Pea made a quick note on his paper before stopping. “You don’t think I should change it, do you. To argue that he should have let the king and queen handle it?”

You furrowed your brow. “No, why would you?”

“Because it’s the right answer? I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking back down at the paper.

“You mean the Northside answer?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “Nah, you write better if you actually believe what you’re saying.”

He looked at you for a brief second, squinting slightly as if trying to make sense of you before he turned back to what he was writing.

“When you’re finished with that, I think we’re good for the day. Other than that and the little things I mentioned before, there’s not much else that I’d change or add. We can give it a final look on Thursday.”

He nodded putting his pencil down and starting to pack up his stuff. You stood. The endings of your sessions were always awkward. It was weird that the minute you two walked out the door you didn’t know each other. Towards the beginning you had staggered your leaving, but recently the two of you had left around the same time only to walk in the same direction and have to pretend like you hadn’t just spent the past forty-five minutes alone in a classroom together. It was weird to have him hold the door for you as you left, unless someone was too close and then he let it close in your face. You kind of  wanted to go back to the staggering. You kind of didn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sweet Pea said, standing from his seat as the two of you made your way towards the door. “How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me?” you asked, pausing by the doorway, just out of sight from anyone who may be passing by.

“For the help,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you said, starting to worry your lip, only to catch yourself and stop. “I don’t need anything.”

“I’m not in the business of owing favors,” Sweet Pea said, surprisingly stony. You furrowed your brow at him.

“I don’t want any favors. It’s fine, really. It helps me work on my own paper.”

“That’s it?” he asked, skeptically.

“I don’t know, maybe you could get me a milkshake or something at Pop’s. Not like a date or anything. I mean not that you’re not…attractive or datable or whatever. I just like milkshakes, and I don’t really want anything else and–”

“And Pop’s is basically Riverdale High’s after school care, so not really an option,” Sweet Pea cut in, and you nodded.

“Right,” your arms prickled with embarrassment. “No one can know. Right.”

Sweet Pea was silent as he stood there in front of you. “I can do like five dollars a week? That’s the price of a milkshake, right?”

“It’s fine. Going alone to Pop’s is just…sad. I don’t need anything.”

“You can’t just go with your friends?”

“Sarah’s a vegan and very anti-Pop’s.”

“And your other friends?”

“That’s pretty much it,” you shifted your weight to your other leg. “I know it’s kind of shocking because I’m so calm and socially adept, but people just aren’t really lining up to go out to Pop’s with me. Chat in class sure but hang out outside of school…” you shrugged. "It’s fine though. I don’t really have tons of time anyway, with all the studying and homework and everything I have to do. And wow that makes my life sound pathetic and boring. It’s not though. In case you were wondering…” you trailed off.

Sweet Pea just stood there, looking at you. Or, if you were honest, it felt like he was looking  _in_ to you. Trying to figure out what was going on in your head probably, and hell if you knew. It felt like whenever you opened your mouth and you weren’t talking about school things just spilled out and you had no control over what those things were.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, nodding at you before ducking out of the classroom and leaving you to wait there until you couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore and it was safe to go home.

* * *

“This is fucking  _bullshit_ ,” Sweet Pea swore, pushing himself out from the desk so forcefully that his chair toppled over. He didn’t even look down at it as he began to pace around the classroom. You stayed seated, having learned that following him around the classroom only seemed to give him more energy and amp him up. One of you needed to stay grounded. “We both know that essay was better than a fucking D.” He kicked another chair which skidded into the desk. The resulting crash made you wince.

“He probably didn’t even read it. Just saw my name at the top of the page and figured a Serpent like me couldn’t do any better than a D.” He slammed his fist down on the teacher’s desk. And then, in the next second he brought his hand back and swung forward, pushing all of the worksheets off the desk in a flurry of paper

“Hey!” you exclaimed, darting out of your seat and grabbing at his arm as he raised it again. He looked down at you with a glare so menacing you seriously questioned whether or not someone actually  _could_ literally stare daggers into someone. “Stop,” you said quietly, releasing your grip. He stared for a second longer, maybe trying to melt you this time, but before you could turn into a puddle he dropped his arm.

“Why should I? If all I am is an ignorant thug, I might as well embrace it,” he argued through gritted teeth.

“And prove him right? And all of the other assholes?” you challenged. “Besides, I don’t think he gave you a D just because you’re a Serpent.” 

“So you think all that work we put into that was just worth worth a D?” Sweet Pea heaved, staring down at you.

“No,” you shook your head quickly. “I’m with you, a D is bullshit, but we could at least look at the comments. Ok?”

“What’s the point. So I can see all the ways I failed?”

You closed your eyes shaking your head. “You read comments to see where you need to go to improve.” You took in a deep breath and then let it go, opening your eyes. Sweet Pea was staring at you, his chest still rising and falling more quickly than normal. “Ok, how about this: I’ll read the comments and summarize them while you pick up the papers.”

“I–”

“If you’re not going to clean it up the custodians are, and I am not getting a zero on my classwork today because you had a temper-tantrum,” you said, sharply. Sweet Pea raised his eyebrows at you, and you took a step back but crossed your arms. You could see him set his jaw, but he leaned down and began to stack the papers back up. You let out the breath you had been holding and walked back over to the desk, picking up his chair and the crumpled essay that had fallen beneath the desk. You smoothed the paper out, starting at the beginning, your eyes scanning the comments which were all surprisingly positive for a D paper.  _Good insight. You could pick a stronger quote. I agree!_ Your brow furrowed, and you bit you lip, making your way through the second page.  _Word choice. Need stronger transition. Solid point. ????_  Your eyes darted from the question marks to the end of the line.

_“funeral, Claudius disrespected him. Laertes also takes on the necessary task of avenging his”_

You flipped the page over.

And then returned back to the question marks.

And then you started to laugh.

Sweet Pea looked up from where he was neatly placing the papers on Mr. Adams’ desk over to you.

“What’s so funny?” he growled, crossing his arms.

You laughed louder.

“What?” You could feel his anger radiating off him, and a small voice in the back of your head that valued your life pushed you to hold out the paper to him.

“How many pages did you write?” you asked, attempting to calm yourself down.

“I don’t know like three?” He snatched the essay out of your hand.

“So you’re saying your essay doesn’t end mid-sentence on page two?”

“What?” It was as if you could see the jolt of panic hit his body. As he flipped the paper to the second page, and then flipped again surprised to see page one in front of him. “Where’s the third page?”

“Still in the printer maybe?” you suggested failing miserably to repress the grin on your face.

He looked dumbly at the paper and then back at you. “Never tell anyone about this. Ever.”

“I think your already protected under the ‘no one can know about this arrangement’ rule,” you nodded. “But at least you know why you got a D. That’s his policy: all incomplete or off prompt papers get a D. You know, just like how all ignorant Serpent thugs automatically get D’s.”

“Shut up,” Sweet Pea grumbled, dropping in the seat next to you. And for the sake of your life, you did.

* * *

Sweet Pea was late. Twenty minutes late. And if it wasn’t for the fact that you seriously doubted Sweet Pea had ever forgotten anything in his life, you would have left already, sure he wasn’t coming.

Sure, you’d moved todays meeting to a Wednesday instead of the usual Tuesday/Thursday pattern. That was weird. It was last minute. The switch up could easily slip someone’s mind.

But not Sweet Pea’s. He wouldn’t have forgotten.

And that thought ate at you. It ate at you more than the thought of what waited for you at home. Because you knew what was waiting for you at home. You didn’t know what happened to Sweet Pea. What if one of the Bulldogs had jumped him between your last class and him getting here? Wait, was he even in your last class? Your mind spun as you quick racked your brain trying to remember if you’d seen him in his regular spot today. Usually you were careful to ignore Sweet Pea because you were certain if you looked at him, it’d be obvious to everyone that you knew him. That you two talked. That you were slowly but surely becoming cool with each other. It would be all over your face.

But still, something could have  _happened_.

What if Weatherbee had targeted him for a random search or some other bullshit infraction? What if he was in jail and no one knew because Sheriff Minetta didn’t seem the type to give out phone calls.

You grabbed your bag and started towards the door at a sprint, almost smashing into Sweet Pea. “Hey!” he exclaimed, twisting his body away as you skidded to a halt, putting your hands out to catch onto the door frame and stop yourself.

“Sweet Pea!” you gasped. “You’re late!”

“Yeah, sorry, there was a wait,” he said, turning back to face you, two milkshakes and a to-go bag from Pop’s dangling in his hand. He brushed past you into the classroom, heading for your usual spots and ignoring the fact that you still stood at the door, facing where he’d been. You felt like your mind had raced out ahead of you and now you had to wait for it to come back to the classroom so you could process exactly what was happening.

“You got–I thought–You didn’t have to—” you started, spinning to face him.

“I meant to bring it last time but then I got caught up with the…you know,” he said, pulling out two wrapped burgers and setting one on each desk. “But, I thought if the only thing you wanted for saving my ass was a milkshake, the least I could do was figure out how to get you one.”

“I–I can’t believe—Is this why—Did you—” You made a helpless sound at the end of the stuttering, and Sweet Pea shot you an amused look.

“Thank you,” he supplied.

“Thank you,” you echoed.

There was a pause.

“So, are you going to come eat or are you going to stay over there?” Sweet Pea asked, picking up a fry and dropping it into his mouth. “Because I’m not going to save you any fries.”

…..

“Thanks for the Pop’s, by the way,” you said as the two of you walked down the deserted hallway. “It’s probably going to be the best thing that happens to me all day.”

“Sounds like there’s more to that statement,” Sweet Pea said, holding the door open for you.

“Not really,” you shook your head. “I just…I don’t want to go home,” you admitted, looking away from him and out into the almost empty Riverdale High parking lot.

“Having such a blast with me?” he drawled, and you could tell by the way he said it that his eyebrows were raised and he had that small smirk kind of thing going on, the same way he always did whenever he was making fun of you.

“No,” you snorted rolling your eyes, or at least you almost rolled your eyes. You stopped midway through, your eyes growing wide, and you turned quickly to face him. “I mean you’re fine. Great. I like our arrangement. Ugh that sounds pervy. I don’t mean it like a creep, just–”

“Relax,” he gave the hint of a genuine smile but whisked it away before anything more could come of it. “What’s up with home?”

You glanced up at him before looking back down at your shoes. “It’s nothing. I mean, it’ll sound stupid when I say it out loud, and I kind of already feel like shit about it so I don’t really want to get laughed at.”

“I won’t laugh.” Sweet Pea raised his eyes in a challenging way.

“I think you will.”

“Tell me,” he said, nudging you with an elbow.

“I got a C on my stat test,” you mumbled, looking away from him so you didn’t have to see the failed attempts at repressing his amusement and disbelief.

“So that’s what makes Northsiders afraid to go home? A bad grade on a test. Shit I wish that was why I didn’t want to go home.”

You gritted your teeth. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” 

“I’m not laughing,” he shook his head. “It’s just…sad that you think that is a problem.”

“I told you it was stupid. I didn’t want to even say anything,” you said, pushing past him and beginning to walk down the road.

“Hey,” Sweet Pea called out, grabbing your arm. You flinched and he let go immediately. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“You don’t want to know about my Northsider problems. It’s fine.”

“I’m not going to beg you to tell me. If you don’t want to you don’t have to.” He said, standing there still close to you.

“They just…my parents…they just get on me when I come home with any thing lower than an A. And I don’t want to deal with it…with the arguments and the things they say.”

“What do they say?” His voice was noticeably softer, and your eyes darted from where you’d been staring at the sidewalk to him.

“I don’t know, my parents are pretty strict about doing well in school. They just um, they ask if I did my best, and I say yes, and then they’ll say something along the lines of if that’s my best then it means they failed with me. You know, like how I don’t measure up to my sister and they made a mistake with me by giving me some more freedom to come home late from school or not do homework and studying on the weekends and stuff. Then there’s the whole part about how can I achieve my plans or amount to anything with grades like that? You know, that if I don’t want to end up worthless I need to put more effort in and take school more seriously. With a C it’ll probably be a little worse. Just in terms of volume and tone. ” You tried to make the last part sound like a joke, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep the smile on your face. Not when you saw Sweet Pea set his jaw.

“They don’t hit you, do they?” he asked, tightly.

“What? No. No of course not. They’re not abusive. Just…disappointed.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “My sister’s at Harvard Law, excelling, and I’m pretty sure they want me there too for pre-med…” you trailed off, looking out at the parking lot again. “I don’t know. Like you said, it’s just a Northsider problem. I’m sure you’ve dealt with worse,” you mumbled.

Sweet Pea looked you up and down, his brown wrinkling as he seemed to be considering something. “It’s not just a Northsider problem,” he said finally. “Sounds like shit.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, crossing your arms against the breeze. The two of you stood there in silence, alone. Sweet Pea looking down at you, and you standing there holding yourself together, trying to keep the panic and embarrassment down. Deep down.

“You know, if you don’t want to go home, we could go back inside and hang out here for a bit or go over to my place.”

Your heart began to race. You could almost hear it in your ears as you opened your mouth, but Sweet Pea cut you off, shaking his head with that almost smile. “Don’t worry, not like that.”  

You flushed and shook your head. “I—I have to get home. If I’m later than four it’ll just be worse, and I’m already cutting it close.”

“Need a ride then?”

You shook your head. “That’s ok. Someone would probably see us. I can just walk.”

He stood quietly, his eyes once again running up and down your body as if appraising you.

“Yeah ok,” he nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow though? On time?” you asked, your voice lifting a little bit in spite of yourself.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sweet Pea smiled.

* * *

_To Be or Not To Be?_

You stared at the question at the top of Sweet Pea’s screen before looking up at him.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing a little bit in the way they always did when he was testing you.

“I thought you would have gone with one of the the revenge prompts,” you admitted, hesitantly, bracing yourself for the rant coming your way.

“I had more to talk about with this one,” he said simply, his eyes darting from the screen and then back at you.

“Oh,” you said quietly, turning back to the computer and scanning over the first line.  _Coming from the Southside and being part of the Serpents everybody here thinks that I’m a deadbeat or a criminal._ You stopped yourself, looking up at Sweet Pea.

“If you don’t want me to read this one, I don’t have to. I can walk you through some self-edit strategies because you’ve really been getting better. You don’t need me to–” 

“You can read it,” he cut you off, his voice even and measured for once. Your own brow furrowed as you looked at him for a second longer, as if trying to determine whether or not he really meant it. He didn’t flinch or move or look away. He met your gaze and held it. Steady.

You broke first, shifting your attention to the essay, your face feeling warm.

_I can hear it in their little comments and in the way they whisper when I walk past them in the hall. I can see it in their expressions when I make a good point in class or the way they won’t make eye contact. So, yeah, I get angry. I’m angry all of the time because I’m tired. I’m tired of being treated like I’m like a second class citizen because I was born on the wrong side of town. I’m tired of being treated like I’m a criminal because I chose a family who will always look out for me since mine split. I’m tired of being dumped on and blamed for everything when all I do is what it takes to survive. So yeah, sometimes I question whether it’s worth coming to school or not just to put up with this. Like Hamlet I have to wonder if it’s worth “suffering the slings and arrows” of my classmates and fight to prove that I am smart and belong here or do I give up and become the ignorant thug everyone already sees me as?_

It was hard to focus on the parts of the essay that needed work. Clearly his wording could be better and there was room to make this more powerful, but the very fact that he was writing this and sharing it with  _you_  gave you pause. 

“Do you really feel this way?” you asked whispered. You didn’t mean to whisper. It wasn’t like anyone was around to hear you. It just came out that way. As if the question was meant to be asked softly.

He shrugged, looking away from you and towards the wall, crossing his arms.  

You nodded shoving anything you would have said back down. Instead, you chose to sit in silence, staring at Sweet Pea. You noticed for the first time, the way he always seemed to be crossing his arms, and if he wasn’t doing that he was clenching his fist. Your eyes ran up his arm to his face, which looked distant and closed. And in that moment, Sweet Pea suddenly made a lot more sense. Because you _knew_  that look.

“You thought of me like that when I asked you to help, didn’t you?” he mumbled, finally, still refusing to look at you.

You wished you were a good liar. Or that the two of you were friends now. Or that you were braver than you were. But you weren’t. You were you, and all _you_  could do was look down and mumble “Yeah, but I was wrong.”

His head snapped to you and he furrowed his brow, his eyes bore into you with that assessing look they sometimes got. You looked up and met his gaze wondering if he was going to charge you with lying or push you on it or say anything else. He didn’t. He just continued to stare at you intensely as if calculating something in his head.

“I mean, you’re still  _terrifying._  Just um not so randomly? Does that make sense?”

He gave the smallest shake of his head.

“Like,” you bit your lip, trying to form the words in your head into sentences. Sentences that made sense and wouldn’t cause him to bolt from the room or knock over furniture or scream at you. “You get frustrated when you don’t know something so you act all angry and storm away because you’d rather die than have people think you’re stupid. That’s why we have our arrangement isn’t it? Because you don’t want people to know you need help?”

He shrugged again.

“And now you’re saying you’re angry people because people only see you in one way which makes sense why you’re always ready to snap on the Bulldogs. Because they are  _most_ of the reason people see you like that. I guess I’m just saying your anger makes sense. You’re not some raw nerve or ball of senseless rage. You’re a real person.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just saying that it’s harder to think of you as some thug and weigh all of that Southside and Serpent stuff against you when I like you.”

You flushed as Sweet Pea raised his eyebrows. “Not  _like_ you like you. Not like that. I mean there’s a bunch of girls who do. Even Northsiders. Because you’re objectively good looking. Like really good looking and tall dark and mysterious and stuff, but I’m not–I just mean as a friend. Even though we’re not friends. Uh, well we could be, but—”

“Breathe, Allison.” Sweet Pea chuckled, his arms falling down to his sides. “I know what you mean.”

You flushed and looked back down at the desk.

“And for the record, I like you too.”

You nodded, failing to keep the smile from sliding onto your face. “Great. Umm, let’s get this paper sorted then.”

* * *

“No one can tell me the answer.” Ms. Richardson asked, pacing up and down the rows of the history class. “We’ve been studying Reconstruction for how long and no one can tell me how this affected political parties? This is ridiculous.” 

Your stomach twisted as you flipped through your notes searching for any kind of hint to the answer.

“Mr. Chisholm? An answer?” your teacher rounded on one of the Bulldogs closest to her who looked up from where he’d been doodling something in his notebook.

“No ma'am,” he shook his head, looking back down to avoid her gaze. She shook her head, turning on the next student.

“Mr. Fogarty?”

Fangs Fogarty looked up at the teacher blankly looking far more like a deer in the headlights than a dangerous Southside Serpent. He shook his head.

“Should have known,” Ms. Richardson snapped. Next to him, you watched as Sweet Pea’s hands ball into fists and his jaw set.

“We just need a second to think,” you blurted.

“Excuse me?” The teacher’s attention whipped around on you, and it was if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on your head. You opened and shut your mouth. You were sure your body was shaking. It felt like it was shaking. Like the 24 pairs of eyes that had turned to look at you were crushing you under the weight of their stare. “Oh, no, Ms. McDermott, I’d like you to repeat it please.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Richardson, I—I—I just—”

“Repeat. It.”

“I said we need time to think. And look in our notes.”

“If you need time to look in your notes so you can answer basic questions about what we’ve been studying for the past few weeks, then you can spend your lunch with me today.” Ms. Richardson stated firmly. Your cheeks burned, and you looked away from her as she made her way back to the front of the classroom. You caught Sweet Pea’s stare as the corner of his mouth quirked up before he shook his head and turned his attention to Fangs who was whispering something.

…

The rest of class went by comparatively smoothly. At least there were no more incidents where you publicly stuck your foot in your mouth. Instead you sat in silent dread, letting the reality of what you’d done sink in.

You were in such deep shit if your parents ever found out.

It was this thought that kept your mind occupied even after the bell rang. It wasn’t until Sarah poked you in the back that you shook yourself off and realized everyone was packing up. You started shoving your stuff in your bags as quickly as possible, in the process knocking your textbook down to the ground.

“Shit,” you swore, leaning down to pick up the book. Before you could get there a hand already had it and was offering it to you.

You looked up at Sweet Pea who had that small smile on his face.

“Uh, thanks,” you said, taking it from him.

“No problem,” he said before turning around to walk out the door with his friends. You followed him with your eyes, accidentally catching Toni Topaz’ gaze. Your head snapped back around as you finished pulling your books from your locker.

“Ummm, what just happened?” Sarah asked.

You looked up at her, almost forgetting she was there. You shook your head. “I have no idea.”

“Did Sweet Pea–Riverdale High’s own Wolverine— just pick up your book for you?”

“I…” you shrugged struggling to push down the strange feeling that felt too close to “offended”  from bubbling up.

“This is a sign of the end times.” Sarah joked.

It was harder to force yourself to laugh than it should have been. And you definitely shouldn’t have let your gaze drift back to the retreating Southside Serpent’s jacket.

…

“Who was that?” Fogarty asked, looking over his shoulder and back at you before following Sweet Pea into the hallway.

“Allison McDermott,” Sweet Pea said, staring ahead, ignoring the look that Toni shot him.

“What’s her deal?” Fangs continued.

“I don’t know what that was in there, but she once got a bad grade in Simpkins’ class and cried about it. In class. Poor neurotic little grade grubber couldn’t handle it,” Cheryl chimed in with her trademark lighthearted bitch tone.

“Shut it Cheryl,” Sweet Pea growled.

“What is this?” Cheryl asked, perking up. “Our serpentine prince channeling his anger issues into defending a Northside nerd? Don’t tell me you’re interested in first movie Hermione Granger.”

Sweet Pea curled his fingers up into a fist before flexing them out, focusing on keeping them straight so they wouldn’t curl up again and do anything Toni would make him regret.

“Easy Cheryl,” Toni stepped in, casting a confused glance at Sweet Pea. “He hasn’t had his coffee today, so he’s even more of a short fuse than normal.”

Cheryl laughed. “Whatever.”

The rest of her snark was cut off as Sweet Pea looked over his shoulder and towards you where you laughed with a friend coming out of the classroom door. He pushed the odd feeling that crept up in his chest down and turned back, following the rest of the Serpents.

* * *

“You are  _never_  going to believe what just happened,” you announced, walking into the classroom.

Sweet Pea looked up at you, eyebrows raise. “You just walked in the door six minutes late to tutoring? Yeah, I thought you might have died.”

“Very funny,” you shot back. “But more unbelievable than me being late.”

“You got a  _second_ detention today for defending a Southside Serpent,” Sweet Pea asked, giving you the  tell-tale 'I’m making fun of you’ smirk.

You opened your mouth to argue back about how you  _weren’t_ defending Fangs Fogarty, before realizing that you did not want to start that argument. It was a debate you were destined to lose because the only thing that would convince him that you weren’t looking out for Fangs would be the truth.

And you weren’t about to tell him  _that._

Instead, you let out a laugh and shook your head. “No, and I’m going to have to say  _more_ unbelievable.”

“So we’re just going to skip over the whole thing that happened with Richardson.”

“Yes, but also no.”

“Alright, tell me,” he said, opening his hands wide, as if welcoming in the information.

“Adam Chisholm just asked me on a date,” you announced, falling into the chair next to Sweet Peas. “And I said yes.” To your pleasure, he looked just as surprised as you probably did.

He started to form the beginning of a sentence before he got there. His fingers twitched by his side before finally relaxing. “You’re right, that  _is_ more unbelievable.”

“Hey!”

“I am agreeing with you,” he argued back.

“Well, uh, yeah, maybe technically…” you shook your head, feeling your face grow warm. “He found me in the hall on the way here and said he was really impressed with the way I stood up to Richardson and wanted to thank me by taking me out to Pop’s. And then I asked him if this was like a date, and he said yes.”

“So you asked him on a date,” Sweet Pea said slowly.

“No, he invited me out,” you scrunched up your face with confusion. It was as if Sweet Pea had just checked out for the past thirty seconds.

“To something that you turned into a date,” Sweet Pea continued.

Your face fell. “Oh. Oh no. Did I just ask him out on a date? Is that going to be weird? Does that make me seem desperate? This was supposed to be a friends thing wasn’t it. Oh my–I’m so stupid. I can’t be trusted with anything. Ugh,” you slumped forward, covering your head with your arms. “This is the second stupidest thing I’ve done today.”

You could hear him snort and shift closer to you, nudging your arm with his. “You’re fine.”

You peeked up from your arms to look over at him. “Really? You’re sure I shouldn’t cancel? I can cancel still. It’s tomorrow, not today–”

“You’re fine,” Sweet Pea repeated, nudging you again.

“I’m fine?” you asked, bumping your arm back into his.

He grinned. “Just make sure you’re safe and pick up some protection before you go.”

You gasped, your face on flames at you stared like him, too stunned to bury your head in your arms again.

“Seriously, Allison. K9 Advantix or Frontline plus only, last thing you want to do is pick up fleas because you went with some generic bland.”

“I…I can’t tell if that’s a euphemism.”

Sweet Pea didn’t answer.

Unless you counted bursting out laughing.

In that case, he gave a very long and very loud answer.

* * *

“Guess who got an A-,” Sweet Pea yelled in triumph kicking in the classroom door.

You whipped your head around to look at him, attempting to plaster in a smile even as your chest constricted and you tried to convince yourself to push down everything you were feeling and just. be. happy. After all, this was far from the meanest thing anyone’d done to you.

His face fell. Obviously your attempt at a cheery smile had failed. Probably miserably.

“What’s up?”  he asked, moving slower and with significantly less pep.

“Nothing,” you rolled your eyes, looking away from him.

“You didn’t get a C again did you?” he asked, sitting down backward on the chair in front of yours. You snorted shaking your head.

“Seriously, Sweet Pea, it’s nothing. It’s dumb.” You might have gotten him to let it go if your voice hadn’t cracked.

“It was your date, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice tight.

“What date?” you chuckled humorlessly. Sweet Pea furrowed his brow, and you shook your head trying to get control over yourself. “He…he never showed.”

“What an asshole–”

You held up a hand stopping him. “I thought maybe–” your voice got away from you, and it took a second for you to bring it back. “Maybe he forgot the time. Or maybe something came up and he couldn’t text because it was serious.”

Sweet Pea scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I waited for forty-five minutes, and then I left, and I figured I’d see him in school today and we could sort it out. But then I  was scrolling on Instagram, and…”

You held your phone out showing him the picture you had found on Ginger Lopez’ Instagram.

It took him a second for the picture of the holding hands and tangled legs and the caption to sink in.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” Sweet Pea stood up so quickly, his chair wobbled. “I’ll kick his ass,” he started for the door.

“Sweet Pea, stop, school’s over, he’s probably at practice with the rest of the Bulldogs.”

“Great, there’ll be an audience.”

“Hey! Wait!” you called out, grabbing his arm. “Please, don’t. It’ll make me seem pathetic, and they’ll just suspend you for starting it, and then people will know we talk, and I know you don’t want that.”  You stopped, a new jolt of pain running through you. “It’s not worth it.” A tear escaped and you reached up to wipe it away with the sleeve.

“He’s an idiot,” Sweet Pea spat, turning back around to face you.

“ _I’m_  the idiot,” you sniffed, and then more tears were coming. “I really thought he was interested.” You took a step forward, moving as if to hug him before you let your hands fall to your sides realizing that just because Sweet Pea was happy to use you as an excuse to fight the Bulldogs didn’t mean you were friends. Sure he said he liked you. But that didn’t mean anything. You liked plenty of people, but you didn’t want to hug all of them. You were pretty sure a good number of this school liked you.

And yet here you were.

Before you could follow this train of thought any further, two arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You shook, completely letting go of all reserve as you tucked yourself under his chin, your ear resting against his chest and listening to the steady beats of his heart. It was a fast rhythm but easy to follow and comforting in its predictability. You felt yourself melt further into him, breathing a little easier, even as the tears continued. “I didn’t even like him that much,” you whispered into his shirt. “It was just nice to be liked. To be able to go out to Pop’s with someone who didn’t mind being seen by me.”

Sweet Pea didn’t say anything. Instead, he held you a little tighter and rested his head on yours as you continued to cry.

* * *

“So,” Toni started, dropping into the seat across the table from Sweet Pea. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Allison McDermott or am I going to have to get Betty and Jughead to sleuth it out?”

Sweet Pea looked up at her, finishing chewing on his burger before he placed his food back on his tray to answer. “What are you talking about?”

Toni sighed, rolling her eyes. “I was running late to practice yesterday when I passed by this classroom and I could have  _sworn_ I saw you in there  _hugging Her._ Maybe it was some other giant in a Serpents jacket though.”  Toni leaned on her hand, smirking at Sweet Pea. “So, again, what’s going on between you and Allison McDermott?”

“Nothing,” Sweet Pea answered, tightly, punctuating the lie with a very jerky shrug.

“Ok, so when you picked up her book for her the other day it was just a random act of kindness?”

“Yep,” he let the p pop before taking another bite.

“And when you went crazy on Cheryl for making fun of her?”

“I got tired of Cheryl being a bitch.” The hamburger muffled his words, but Toni’s face still went dark.

“Watch it,” Toni she warned lowly. “And don’t try to make me mad to change the subject. You  _like_ Allison. How did you two even get to know each other anyway? Is she why you stay after school?”

“We don’t know each other.” Sweet Pea glared, pushing up from the table. “And even if we did it’s none of your damn business.” Sweet Pea grabbed his tray, chucking the rest of his lunch in the trash can as he stormed away.

* * *

You were thankful that no one knew you were supposed to go out on a date with Adam Chisholm. Well, at least, no one who would whisper about it or bring it up to you and force you to face your embarrassing rejection. There had been a horrible moment of pure terror when you realized Adam may have brought it up and laughed about it with his friends or maybe someone who saw you at Pop’s, but you were so anonymous that it seemed like they didn’t even deem you worth gossiping about. And thank goodness really.

You were just glad that the only person who knew what went down and how you reacted couldn’t publicly acknowledge that he even knew you.

Because that’s what this feeling was. This soft sort of numbness that reminded you of the feeling of snow, blanketing any and all thoughts of Sweet Pea and Adam and school. This was gladness.

You felt relieved when the texts came in.

It was good. It meant you could just let the whole storm pass. You didn’t have to address the fact that you drank a milkshake alone. You didn’t have to address how comfortable Sweet Pea was or how you liked the feeling of the worn leather jacket. You didn’t have to address the fact your chest felt strangely hollow every time Sweet Pea sent you a text cancelling tutoring. You didn’t have to address anything.

But, as you lay on your bed staring up at the ceiling, having finished the edits on his paper, you couldn’t help but read over his texts for the tenth time and keep repeating one thought over and over again: you shouldn’t be this upset.

He was your tutoree. Tutee? Some kid. A serpent. Serpents skipped help.

But then your thumbs were flying across the keyboard.

“You have to tell her.” Toni said softly, looking up at Sweet Pea from across the bar.

“And you have to stop reading my texts,” Sweet Pea clicked the screen off.

“She’s clearly into you and you like her, what’s the problem?” Toni snapped, moving backwards to grab a bottle from the bar to refill a glass

“You don’t get it.”

“Oh yes, I forgot, you are the only one who’s ever experienced pining.”

“Whatever,” Sweet Pea growled, pushing away from the bar and starting towards the pool table where he could be left the hell alone.

“Get back here,” Toni barked, and Sweet Pea stopped, turning to her with a glare. “No one cares, Pea. No one cares if you’re into a Northsider. No one cares which Northsider you’re into. No one cares about Northside vs. Southside anymore except for you _._ So if you like her, get over yourself and tell her.”

“It’s not a Northside/Southside thing,” Sweet Pea grumbled, taking a hesitant step back to the bar.

“Then what is it?” Toni sighed, deflating a little herself.

Sweet Pea looked over his shoulder before sliding back onto the seat in front of Toni. “She’s my English tutor.” 

“Oh my God.”

“So I need help–”

“No, that was because you are  _so dumb._ You’re worried that people will find out that you needed help in English? And you’re making this poor girl think  _she’s the problem_ because of your stupid big ego?” Toni was practically screaming at him now, but Sweet Pea sat there, jaw set and body tense waiting for her to finish.

“It’s not just that,” he finally cut in, running a hand through his hair. “She never…she was supposed to go on a date with this Bulldog…she’s not interested.”

“Or maybe she thinks  _you’re_  not interested because you refuse to admit you even  _know_ her in public.” Sweet Pea opened and shut his mouth. “Just sayin’ Pea. Stop avoiding her and talk to her. You found a girl willing to hug  _you o_ f all people,” Toni joked. “There’s not too many of them out there in the world.”

Sweet Pea lifted a finger as Toni let out a laugh and moved to help another customer.

* * *

He didn’t respond to your text.

Or your email with the comments.

He didn’t even look at you in school the next day.

As expected you had made it worse.

It seemed like an uphill battle to hide your disappointment from everyone, but you’d been giving it a particularly valiant effort and had felt rather good about getting away with your mopiness unnoticed until Sarah cornered you at your locker.

“You’re coming out with me tonight,” Sarah announced as you closed your locker door.

“To where?” you asked.

“Reggie’s having a party, and you look like you need some fun and socialization. So, be at my house by 8:30, and I’ll figure out which clothes I’m going to dress you up in.”

“Sarah,” you sighed. “Nobody wants me at their parties.”

“Oh come on, like the whole school is invited to this one. It’s a blowout for his birthday, and if there’s one thing people like Reggie love it’s celebrating themselves,” Sarah argued, following you as you took off towards the door. She continued to nag you all the way out the door and onto the bus until finally you broke down and agreed that you’d go to this party.

But even though Sarah had said everyone was invited, you hadn’t really expected that “everyone” would include the Serpents. You said as much to Sarah when you walked in.

“I’m guessing Cheryl bullied Reggie into it so she could bring Toni,” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to talk to them.” She pulled you along, and your eyes fell on Sweet Pea. He met your gaze and you quickly turned away, following her further into the house and straight for the bright red concoction on Reggie’s counter.

It only took an hour to lose Sarah to an attractive junior on the track team, which was really just your luck. Being alone. At a party in which you didn’t belong. Too straight laced to get drunk enough to deal with this situation. This was the worst.

“Hey! Having a good time?” A voice shouted over the music and you whirled, stumbling on over your feet. Two hands shot out, grabbing a hold of your shoulder and elbow to steady you. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, staring up at Adam Chisholm. He had the audacity to smile at you.

“You look great.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking away from him and out to the crowd, desperately wishing you could will Sarah to appear.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you about Pop’s. I was on my way when Ginger texted, and I tried telling her I couldn’t come over, but you know Ginger; I don’t think she’s even heard the word no before.”

It was hard to keep track of what he was saying. All you could hear was. Pop’s. Ginger. No.

“It’s fine,” you shook your head. 

“You’re way too nice—”

“She really is,” another voice agreed, coming up behind you. You could feel his presence at your back, closer than he normally was. He was here. He was behind you. He was next to you. He was defending you. No one could know.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think anyone was talking to you,” Adam bit back, his eyes on Sweet Pea. “So why don’t you just slither away.”

“Sure, as soon as you go back to your kennel and leave Allison the hell alone,” Sweet Pea said, leaning forward so that he pressed against your back.

You bit your lip, trying to keep from looking at him. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t acknowledge him. Couldn’t give him away.

“Jealous, Serpent?” Adam asked.

“Look you already screwed with her once. Why don’t you go pee on Mantle’s furniture if you want to assert your dominance or whatever fucked up shit the Bulldogs do to initiate the pitiful wannabes like you?”

“What are you talking about?” Ginger asked, sliding up next to Adam, wrapping one arm around his waist and placing the other on his chest.

“The night this asshole 'officially became bae,’ he was supposed to be on a date with Allison.” Sweet Pea said, narrowing his eyes at Adam, as if he’d just ripped the carpet out from under him.

Ginger scoffed. “She told you that?”

Sweet Pea didn’t say anything.

“Because I don’t think she’s really ever had a conversation with Adam, and why would she? Adam’s a Bulldog who has recruiters coming to his games and she’s well…”

“She’s what?” Sweet Pea ground out, his hands in fists.

“Nobody?” Ginger said, too lightly. “I’m not surprised she picked a Bulldog to be in a fake relationship with, it’s just sort of sad you believed her.”

You turned, brushing past Sweet Pea and heading towards the door, trying to keep the mixture of feelings at bay. You pushed past all of the people, ignoring the swearing and the dirty looks until you finally burst outside where you were thankfully alone.

You stood there for a second, just outside the door, taking in the cold and just breathing. It was the first moment of peace you’d felt the entire night.

“Hey, you ok?” You felt his hand on your arm, spinning you to face him. You were positive your eyes were shining.

You shook your head, shrugging. “I expected it coming here. Feeling like the outcast, you know?” you sighed. “I mean it’s probably just another Northsider problem, but it sucks. It sucks when people just don’t want you and will do whatever it takes to keep you on the outside and cut you out.”

He sucked in a breath, looking down at the ground. 

“I didn’t mean you. I mean, that did suck, but I know why you did it. I get it. I’m unbearably awkward and I shouldn’t have broken down on you like that and—”

“You didn’t make things awkward, Allison.” Sweet Pea finally stepped in to save you.

“Oh,” you flushed. A silence settled between you. “I guess I just read into the texts and thought you were avoiding me. I’m sorr–”

“I was avoiding you.”

“Oh.” Your voice was the quietest you’d ever heard it.

“It’s not because of anything you did. You're…great. Really great. Awesome actually. You don’t deserve the shit those people in there give you. I—”

“You stood up for me.” The thought hit you like a freight train. Sweet Pea had just stood up for you. In front of Adam. And Ginger. And practically everyone else in the room. “Oh my—you stood up for me!”

“Yeah,” Sweet Pea’s eyes darted around as if looking for hidden cameras.

“That’s gonna mean questions. And people will ask why you did it or how we know each other, and I swear I’ll cover for you but I’m a terrible liar, and they’ll probably find out. Not that I’m not grateful, I mean it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me in my high school career. Just how—”

Sweet Pea darted forward and for half a second his lips were on yours and your heart stopped and you couldn’t breathe. He pulled back, enough to look at your face. Enough to bring his hand up to cup your cheek.

“You kissed me.” Leave it to you to state the obvious during the most romantic moment of your life.

Sweet Pea’s lips quirked up into their almost smile. “Yeah. Is that ok?”

“What if someone sees?” you whispered.

Sweet Pea snorted, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. Your heart thundered in your chest. Sweet Pea kissed you. He kissed you. At a party. Where he stood up for you.

“Come on,” he said, suddenly, stepping back and tugging you by the hand back in door.

You stumbled along after him like an idiot, letting him lead you into the living room where you had just been. Where people still were. Where Toni Topaz’ eyes immediately fell on the two of you and she cocked her head, pulling the attention of Cheryl towards you.

And this was your nightmare.

Sweet Pea stopped suddenly, turning to you and grabbing your face in his hands, and pulling you in once more. His lips were warm and soft and they felt like the way he hugged. Which was a weird way of describing a kiss, but you didn’t care. Because Sweet Pea was kissing you in front of everyone, pulling you in as close as possible as you grabbed his shirt in your fists and kissed him back, pressing yourself into him. And neither of you cared that everybody saw so everybody knew.


End file.
